


The Hour of His Ghost

by kittykatknits



Series: Bury Our Nightmares Together [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon, allusions to past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: Written for this prompt on tumblr:  Jonsa has been married for some moons now and she's worried Ramsay wounded her inside because she's not pregnant yet, Jon makes her know that she's the only thing he'll ever need for the first time.





	The Hour of His Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mix of book and show canon since my memory of S5 is pretty hazy.

Sansa woke suddenly, pulling the furs back before sitting up. The fire had died, the remaining embers casting a faint glow about the room. The pitch black sky and quiet courtyard below told her the time well enough but she already knew.  It was the hour of the ghost, as it always was when his spirit came.

Her husband lay beside her, bared to the waist, the slow moving rhythm of his chest telling her he slept on, unaware of her latest dream. In the dim light, she could make out the jagged lines of scars on his stomach and along his neck.

She left the bed, not bothering to cover herself with the night robe she kept nearby. After the war, they had decided to make her mother’s old chambers their own. The hot springs warmed it, as much for Jon as for her. She moved to the nearby table, filling her cup from the water pitcher and drank deep. The fire light lent her skin an orange hue. For a brief moment, Sansa wondered if she was the ghost in this room, and not him.

“Sansa.” The voice was muffled, still groggy from sleep.

She almost dropped the cup in her hand. Deep in her thoughts, Sansa had failed to notice Jon. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“Forgive me, I did not intend to wake you,” she whispered. It felt right to speak in a low voice at this hour of the night. She did not want his ghost to hear.

“You did not wake me. Will you come back to bed?” He spoke quietly, matching her. Jon held out his arms, as if to pull at her from across the bed chamber.

She knew he would not return to sleep until she lay beside him once more. They both wore scars, the most painful lay hidden, buried deep. Jon had seen the dead, rode a beast in the sky as it breathed red flames below. He saw ice spiders and other creatures she could not imagine. Sansa’s monsters had all been men, with their base desires and simple appetites and great cruelties. She had slain them all, fought her own wars. Yet one always came back during the hour of the ghost. He was here again this night.

Sansa returned the cup to the table before walking to Jon, enjoying the feel of his arms as he pulled her against him, his fingers roughened from hours of sword training. “I dreamed,” she murmured against his ear.

Jon gave a slow nod. “Of him?” He turned them, helping her back to the bed before following. The furs were pushed away, only blankets covering them as they sat facing each other. His face was mostly in shadow, somehow that made it easier. “Perhaps if you told me your dreams, it would help.” His tone was plaintive.

She never knew what to tell her husband when he asked. Some nights, she claimed it had already grown hazy since waking. Other nights, she lied even as she silently begged his forgiveness. Sansa did not know how to explain. Spring had long since returned to the north. The glass gardens were being rebuilt, crops planted, one of the hounds had birthed a litter of pups just a few days past. It was only a matter of hours since Gilly announced they were expecting another child. Yet, inside Sansa’s body, it was still winter, and in winter, no seed could take root.

“It was him.” Sansa would never again give voice to his name, she had spoken true that long ago day.

Jon took one of her hands, clasping it in his own. She felt his breath against her skin for the barest second before he pressed a gentle kiss to her palm. “Once, when I closed my eyes, I would see it all again, the cold would seep past my clothes and into me.”

“And what did you do?”

He kissed her palm before stroking it with his thumb. “I opened my eyes and saw only you.”

She blinked but it was too late, the tears began to fall, one and then the other. Sansa was grateful for the darkness that surrounded them, it made it easier. “Do you ever wonder why I am not yet with child?”

Her question confused him, she could tell. “No,” he said flatly.

Sansa had, many times. “It has been so long since you returned, moons and moons, but nothing.” It was not for lack of effort, she knew that much. Since the day he’d returned to her, they had lain together so often it struck her as almost obscene.

“You think he did something?”

“He may have.” Her voice sounded small in the darkness.

“I won’t give him that power over us, Sansa. Do you remember our first night together?” Even in the darkness, she knew Jon smiled as the memories fell over him.

Sansa did remember that first night, after they learned the truth of his parentage. Jon had been so gentle, his caresses loving and tender. They had spoken their vows two days later in front of the heart tree. “I could never forget.” Jon had proven himself to be everything her father could ever want for her. She tried so very hard to be the same for him.

“Nor I. You believe you may no longer be able to have children?”

Sansa’s mother had birthed five children with little difficulty and her mother had birthed several as well. She had done nothing. “I…yes”

“Well, I don’t care at all.” He said it so offhand, as if it were a great jape.

“What!,” she snapped, louder than intended.

“All that time I was gone, it was the memory of lemon on you. That scrap of grey silk I found hidden away, those numbered letters you gave me. They kept me alive, all I ever wanted was to come to you.”

Sansa wiped her tears. “Letters are not children, Jon.”

He snorted. “Obviously not. If we have no children, we can force Arya to marry some knight she can bully. She may not thank us much but we wouldn’t have children. It’d be easy to run and hide in Lys until she got over her anger.”

She could not help it, Sansa laughed.

He was not done. “Or I could wander over to winter town for a boy, force the poor child to dye his hair black.Or we could look for that Vale cousin of ours.”

“I don’t think Arya would much appreciate any of those options.”

“Well, that’s why I mentioned Lys.” He grew serious then. “You need to be able to say his name, Sansa. You give him power he does not deserve.”

She breathed deep. “Ramsay. I swore I would never utter it again.”

“The hour of the ghost has passed us by Sansa, he is not here. He will never be here, not unless we let him in.” He kissed her then, a gentle kiss of reassurance. Sansa drank him in.

“Do you mean it?”

“Every word. All I ever wanted was to come home to you and here I am.”

“I always wanted children.” Sansa could still remember her long ago dream, of naming her children after the family she’d believed lost to her. She still wished for a little Ned and Robb. Now, she wished for a Lyanna and Cat too.

“I know. It will happen, Sansa, I have never once doubted it. Sometimes, you need to stop looking for what you want in order to find it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does. You should listen to me, I’m a wise man.”

“You’re a funny man who is trying to make me feel better.”

“There is that.” He grabbed her then, pulling her into his lap. His skin felt hot against hers. “I’m trying to banish your ghosts as you did mine. Is it working at all?”

She burrowed against his shoulder. “Yes.” In this space, in the darkness, barely relieved by the glowing coals of the fire, it was only her and Jon. She could feel fingers weaving through her hair, pulling on the strands ever so slightly. “We could…”

He did not let her finish. “Gods, yes. I was getting ready to beg.” He moved quickly, flipping them so she lay back on the bed. “All I ever wanted was to come home to you,” he whispered before kissing her.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note on the hour of the ghost. As best as I can tell, that is 1AM or so. Martin never tells us exactly.


End file.
